THE SAINT'S ENCOURAGEMENT.-A SONG, Fight on, brave soldiers, for the cause; Their threat'nings are as senseless, as Our jealousies and fears. 'Tis you must perfect this great work, You must bring back the King again "Tis for Religion that you fight By robbing churches, plundering men, Down with the orthodoxal train, All loyal subjects slay; When these are gone, we shall be blest, The clean contrary way. When Charles we've bankrupt made like us, Of crown and power bereft him, And all his loyal subjects slain, And none but rebels left him. We'll make him then a glorious prince, 'Tis to preserve his majesty, Who fight for us, fight for the king The clean contrary way. At Keynton, Branford, Plymouth, York, What victories we saints obtain'd The like ne'er seen before! How often we Prince Rupert kill'd, And bravely won the day; The wicked cavaliers did run The true religion we maintain, The kingdom's peace and plenty; The privilege of parliament Not known to one of twenty; The ancient fundamental laws; And teach men to obey Their lawful sovereign; and all these The clean contrary way. SIR JOHN SUCKLING, whom we next notice, possessed such a natural liveliness of fancy, and exuberance of animal spirits, that he often broke through the artificial restraints imposed upon him by the literary taste of the age, but he never rose into the poetry of passion and imagination. He is a delightful writer of what are called 'occasional poems.' His polished wit, playful fancy, and knowledge of life and society enabled him to give interest to trifles, and to clothe familiar thoughts in the garb of poetry. Suckling was born at Witham, in Essex, in 1608. He was of a very eminent family, his father Sir John Suckling being Secretary of State to James the First, and afterward Comptroller of the household of that monarch's successor, Charles. The poet was distinguished almost from his infancy, being able to speak Latin at five years of age, and to write it with accuracy at nine. When sixteen years old he entered into public life as a soldier under the celebrated Gustavus Adolphus, with whom he served out an entire campaign. On his return to England he entered warmly into the cause of Charles the First, and raised a troop of horse in his support. He also intrigued with his brother cavaliers to rescue the Earl of Stratford, and was impeached by the House of Commons. To evade a trial he fled to France, but a fatal accident befell him on the way. His servant having robbed him at an inn, Suckling learning the circumstances, drew on his boots hurriedly to pursue him; but a rusty nail, or the blade of a knife, had been concealed in one of them, which, wounding him, produced mortification, of which he soon after died, in 1641, and in his thirty-fourth year. The works of Suckling consist of miscellaneous poems, five plays, and some letters. His poems are all short, and the best of them are dedicated to love and gallantry. With the freedom of a cavalier he has greater purity of expression than most of his contemporaries. His sentiments are sometimes voluptuous, but rarely coarse; and there is so much elasticity and vivacity in his verses, that he never becomes tedious. His Ballad upon a Wedding is inimitable for witty levity and choice beauty of expression. It contains touches of graphic description and liveliness equal to the pictures of Chaucer. The following well-known stanza has, perhaps, never been excelled: Her feet beneath her petticoat, But oh! she dances such a way! No sun upon an Easter-day Is half so fine a sight. This 'Ballad,' and the fine lines on Detraction which follow it, are the only poems that our space will allow us to introduce from this spirited writer. A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, At Charing Cross, hard by the way And there did I see coming down Vorty at least, in pairs. Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, Our landlord looks like nothing to him: 1 Whitsun-ales were festive assemblies of the people of whole parishes at Whit sunday. No grape that's kindly ripe could be Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring; And to say truth (for out it must), Her feet beneath her petticoat, But oh! she dances such a way! Is half so fine a sight. * Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No daisy makes comparison; Who sees them is undone; For streaks of red were mingled there, The side that's next the sun. Her lips were red; and one was thin, But Dick, her eyes so guard her face, Than on the sun in July. Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get: But she so handled still the matter They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit. * Passion, oh me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, besides the bride: The bus'ness of the kitchen's great, For it is fit that men should eat Just in the nick, the cook knock'd thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving-man, with dish in hand March'd boldly up, like our train'd band Presented, and away. When all the meat was on the table, And this the very reason was, The company was seated. Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; O' th' sudden up they rise and dance; By this time all were stol'n aside But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind. DETRACTION EXECRATED. Thou vermin slander, bred in abject minds, Where each meant more than could by both be said. Or, from the air? our gentle sighs had birth Nor from the water could'st thou have this tale; Much less could'st have it from the purer fire; |